A Bitter Brew

by Greg Curtis

  “We should remember however, that his concessions and what he can give us, are only a part of why we need to do this. A small part. The greater part is about respect. Whether we can enter a Council Chamber or charge for our services is a small matter. The larger matter is how we are treated. How we allow others to treat us.”

  “In doing this, in standing and fighting, and in accepting more spells, we are showing the realm that we are not afflicted. We are showing them that we are gifted and worthy of respect.”

  That was his reason for being here at least. But Hendrick knew that everyone was different. They all had their own reasons. He wasn't surprised when his words were greeted with silence.

  “Pretty words.” A bearded man finally broke the silence. He had a large set of crystallite markings running up one leg. And the bright blue stood out extremely clearly against the deep tan of his skin. “I can draw water from the ground. I just want to be able to charge for that.”

  “So how do we do this?” another asked the obvious question.

  “One at a time?” Hendrick wasn't really sure that that was the best way to do it. He didn't even know if there was a best way. But it seemed sensible. “And if everyone’s okay with it I'll go first.”

  He didn't get a lot of protests from the others when he added the last. But then they were probably just as nervous as he was. None of them had received any spells since they were afflicted. For Hendrick it was twenty one years since he had last received a spell. He had been seven at the time and remembered little of it. Nothing except picking up the three shining sparkling grey rocks, holding them in his hand, and watching them dissolve into his skin. At the time he had thought it was exciting and strange – until his mother had grown angry. Shortly after that he’d passed out. His next memory was three days later when he'd awoken and discovered he had magic – and that he was about to be thrown out of the city and cast away by his own family.

  Hendrick approached the barrel a little anxiously, and then looked inside it at the eighteen jagged little pieces of sparkling grey rock. Pieces of Mithril. What spells did they contain? Could one of them allow him to travel between worlds? Stop time? Portal from one place to another? Or were they all minor spells of no great use like most spells? He didn't know. They all looked much the same to him. And they could hold any spell.

  After taking a deep breath, Hendrick grabbed the tongs, reached into the barrel and pulled out a pieces of Mithril, and placed it in his left hand. After that he just stood there, waiting.

  It was so strange holding the fragment of Mithril in his hand. The one time he’d held the magic metal before he’d thought they were just shiny silver rocks. Now he knew better. And he knew it was no rock. For a start it was far too light. So light he could barely feel the weight of it in his hand. It was one of the reasons why the metals were everywhere. They had been spread by the winds. And though they referred to them as metals, the fragments weren’t actually metal either. Because metals rusted and tarnished. They dented. These didn't. They were always bright and shiny and new. And as sages and scholars had tested them, he also knew that they didn't melt or break. Not in the hottest furnace, nor under the most violent assault. They were as far as anyone knew, indestructible. Until they met the right piece of skin that was.

  Nothing happened for ten maybe twenty beats of his heart. And for a moment he wondered if perhaps it wasn't going to. If he'd miscalculated somehow. But then the Mithril abruptly melted and became a sparkling metallic liquid that rolled around in his palm, before quickly seeping into his skin and vanishing.

  And just like that it was done! He didn't know what spell he'd gained. But he knew that it was a part of him now. There was no getting rid of it until he died. Something that was confirmed for him when he saw a new tracery of lines spreading up from his wrist to his lower arm and presumably up to his upper arm, which was currently concealed by the sleeve of his jacket.

  Then he turned to face the others, and raised his arm for them to see. “It's done. Don't know what it is yet. But I feel fine.”

  Hendrick walked back to the others and took his place at one end of the semicircle, just in time to watch the next one take his turn.

  It was Emmerton, and the blacksmith was far bolder than he was. Maybe he was naturally more courageous. Or maybe he was just determined not to be seen as afraid. Either way he strode over to the barrel full of Infernium fragments, grabbed the tongs, and placed one in his hand without any hesitation. Then he too waited impatiently until the rock dissolved into his flesh.

  “Done!” He marched back to his place in the group, his face showing not the slightest sign of worry. But he was a blacksmith. He handled burning metal every day. He probably got burnt from time to time. This was likely not that much more worrying.

  After him it was Charie’s turn. She walked over to the barrel full of Radiant Quicksilver fragments and did the same. And so it went on as one by one, those who had volunteered, all reached out to take on new spells. And the only thing that varied between them was where they placed the fragment.

  Finally they reached the end of the group, and Hendrick knew a brief moment of wonder as the last one held up her hand to show the sunshine yellow Luminite starting to run along her arm. Twenty seven people, all of them afflicted. And all of them had agreed to accept new spells. As far as Hendrick knew, that had never happened before.

  “So, one down. Is everyone feeling alright?” Hendrick felt no different though he knew that in a while he was going to feel tired. That was normal. But he didn't even feel that yet. Nor did anyone else. He watched as they all shook their heads.

  “Then round two I suppose.” He walked back to the barrel, grabbed the tongs, and placed a second piece of Mithril on his palm.

  This time things were different. But only in that as he watched the markings flowing out from his palm, some of them travelled the other way, into his fingers. When he turned his hand over he saw that two of his nails were now Mithril coloured. That was strange. But it didn't seem important, and when he walked back to his place and showed the others, none of them seemed concerned.

  Once more they went down the line one by one, and accepted a second spell. And at the end of it he still felt no different. But he was a little cautious.

  “Anyone feel anything yet?” As before he got nothing but the shaking of heads.

  “Alright then. Do we do another round? Because the first time I did this, I picked up three stones and slept for three days. I was only seven, but even so. So do we want to stop? Or carry on?”

  “We can do one more.” Marnie quickly piped up from her place in the group. She now had little patterns of curving pale green lines running up her right arm, and seemed pleased about it.

  But then of all of them she was the one who wanted this the most. She saw this as step toward becoming one of the wizards from the bard's tales. He wasn't so sure. Either that such people had ever existed, or that this would make them anything like that. He would not have chosen to have done this at all if it hadn't have been for the danger they faced. She, he suspected, might have done so regardless.

  The others looked at her. And then at one another. Eventually they reached a consensus that they should pick up a third spell.

  “So be it then. One more, but then we stop. We rest and wait to see what happens. We can start again tomorrow. Or sleep in.” He was happy to know that the priests would watch over them. Doing this in the temple grounds had been a good idea he thought.

  He walked over to the barrel, and picked up one of the ten remaining Mithril fragments. Eight were gone which he guessed meant that counting himself there were four of them with exotic magic. This time when the markings started appearing in his skin, it was only a single line. But when he checked he discovered that it started in his palm, went all the way up to his shoulder and then dived across his chest. Did that mean anything?

  This time however, while he stood there watching the others going through the procedure one by one, he started to f
eel tired.

  At first it was minor. He felt his head start to become heavier, his neck muscles having to work harder to hold it up. And his eyes seemed to want to close by themselves. He shrugged it off as best he could while he waited for the others.

  Then he felt his knees go.

  Moments later he found himself lying on his back on the grass staring up at a crowd of faces. Worried faces. Worried for him, he wondered? Or worried for themselves?

  “I'm just tired.” He tried to wave them away, but his arm was simply too heavy to lift. And then he heard a thump somewhere in the distance and heard someone call out that Theron was down. He didn't know who Theron was, but he guessed that he too had collapsed.

  But that was just fine he decided as the sky started growing a little darker. The man needed his rest. So did he.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was mostly peaceful in the garden. Occasionally though that peace was shattered by visitors, and Hendrick didn't enjoy that so much. Still, he didn’t have much choice. It was his mother and she was the King's fifth wife. Even the Temple wouldn't dare refuse her access. He wished they would though as he saw her walking across the grass toward him. She looked as though she had something important to say, and he doubted it would be good.

  “Mother.” He greeted her politely, but didn't try to get up from the bench he was seated on. He was still much too tired for such pointless gestures.

  “So, the fool is awake I see!”

  Fool? He didn't really feel like a fool. Or as though he'd done anything particularly ill considered. He felt fine. Just a little tired. But there was no point in arguing with her about it. “I've been up since this morning,” he told her simply.

  “Dolt then. And you were lucky to wake up!”

  “Lucky?” He didn't understand that. “Why would I be lucky to wake up? Everyone else is awake now. No one's died from this. No one's been hurt. It's just draining.”

  “And unseemly! You have the blood of the King flowing in your veins. And yet you chose to allow more of this magical contamination to mix with it?! This has to end!” She shot him her most disapproving glance.

  “No Mother. I'm not done yet. Nor are the others. We're just beginning. A dozen more volunteers arrived here in the last few days, and all have taken two more spells. And despite that the barrels are slowly filling up with more fragments of magic metal.”

  “That's –.”

  “You said you wanted to destroy this behemoth.” He cut her off not wanting to hear the rest. “That only the afflicted could do it. Lady Marda demanded a plan. Well. this is that plan. We will try and gain some warspells to fight it with. It’s the only option we have.”

  “That may be so.” She stood up even taller and folded her arms across her front. “But you don't have to be the one to do it! Others can do it! You are becoming a leader. You don't have to lead from the front!”

  “Concern mother?” He was surprised.

  “Of course. You are a Mountforth. And it's one thing to be afflicted. But to volunteer to accept more of the affliction is something else again! It's almost as though you want this! People are beginning to talk!”

  “Let them.” Hendrick sighed quietly to himself. For a moment he had hoped that there might have been some tiny vestige of actual caring there. More fool him. “And when they ask you about me you can tell them that your son is protecting the realm by making a noble sacrifice. As are these others. And then you should ask them why they are not.”

  Actually, it didn't feel like a great sacrifice. He was gaining spells and improving himself. The others felt the same way. The afflicted on this journey were growing in their magic. Still, he understood his mother’s point of view. To her this was all wrong. She saw it as a disease they were allowing to fester.

  “Besides, in case you've forgotten, Sana was a Mountforth.”

  “Don't ever mention that name!” his mother snapped at him, anger in her voice. Even though the woman was dead she would never forgive her for what she'd done. Still, she quickly hid the emotion. “So, have you at least found something to stop the beast?”

  “We've learned some useful spells Mother. Things we can use against his servants.” He would have loved to have been able to tell her that they'd found a way to banish the beast, but they hadn't so far and he didn't expect them to. That was his mother's hope. He knew the beast was simply too powerful to fight. But they could fight his armies. They had proven that.

  “You have?”

  “No. Not me. Not warspells anyway. Not this time. It is a gamble each time after all. But several of the others have gained magic that will help in the battles. Others have learned spells that will be of benefit elsewhere.”

  “So all this drama and nothing to show for it.” She wasn't concerned with what others might have learned of course. She cared about what he had learned. What she could go back to the other nobles in the Court with, and especially the other wives, and claim her son had achieved.

  “I wouldn't say nothing Mother. I absorbed an enchantment for speaking across long distances. It will allow the King to speak as though he were in the same room with his generals in the midst of a battle.” And that he thought was a useful spell. Especially when it would also allow the King to speak with his mayors in the rest of the fifty cities of the realm.

  “Anything else?”

  “A dimensional mirror that allows me to see into other worlds.” And though she wouldn't like it, he found the spell wondrous. He could sit and stare at the views of other worlds that it brought him for hours. He had actually been doing just that before she had arrived.

  “How useful!” The sarcasm was thick on her tongue.

  “I didn't say it was useful. I said that some of us are acquiring spells that may be of value in a war. I didn't this time. Maybe I will next time.” And he was determined to do this again, even though he could never tell her everything he was learning. He didn't want for example to mention to her what the last spell was he'd picked up. It would only upset her.

  “Next time! By the time you're finished you won't even look like a man.” She stared at his arm, obviously not pleased with what she saw.

  “Again, simply a part of the price we pay for having magic. And not a terrible one.” Besides, he thought, it wasn't that bad. He had more whirls and lines than before, and two sparkling grey finger nails, but he was nowhere near having the brown of his skin replaced by Mithril. And he now had six spells! He'd never heard of anyone having six spells before.

  “You'll have to wear gloves for the rest of your life.”

  “Why, Mother?” For some reason her comment bothered him. “Because I'm afflicted? I always was. And it's time people understood that it's not an affliction. It's a gift. Besides, if I started hiding it and it came out – as of course it would – some would call me a warlock. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

  “By Tarius, this Mithril has eaten into your brain! You should know better than that!”

  Hendrick sighed but kept his peace. And he decided not to tell her about his hope that the afflicted would one day have a guild of their own and would able to charge for their services. That eventually they would be respected for what they could do. She wasn't ready to hear that. And if she wasn't ready to hear his hopes for the future, she really didn't want to hear the nonsense that Marnie kept spouting!

  “As long as Lady Marda keeps her word and the strictures on us are lifted, that’s all we ask. Especially the one preventing us from charging for our services. The rest doesn't matter.” And that was the truth. If they were able to charge for their services, that would be a big thing. They would no longer be viewed as churls. Of course, first they had to gain the spells that people would want to pay for.

  “She will keep her word. She has little choice in it. And the King has agreed – with limitations. You will only be able to charge for those spells the King deems beneficial. And the prices charged must be modest. But Hendrick, you do realise that charging for spells is a worl
d away from a respectable trade.”

  He sighed. She was right of course. But what she failed to understand was that being able to charge for spells was a world away from being mocked and derided. Or even worse, having someone in authority demand you provide your services freely at will.

  “I thank you for your visit Mother.” He decided to try and end the conversation before it became any more difficult. “But I've only just woken up and I'm still very tired. What we're doing is extremely challenging. I really would like to rest for a little bit longer if I can.”

  His mother stared at Hendrick for a while after that, her face unreadable as she apparently considered what he was saying. Eventually she came to a decision.